


take the light inside you like a blessing (like a knee in the chest)

by micahgranados



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Core Four (Disney: Descendants), Evie & Jay & Mal & Carlos de Vil as Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Isle of the Lost (Disney) is a Terrible Place, Jay Centric, Mild Gore, Pre-Canon, Protective Jay (Disney), Protective Mal (Disney), could be read as platonic or romantic, implied jal, it’s so self indulgent i’m sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 16:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micahgranados/pseuds/micahgranados
Summary: jay is a thief, a dirty street rat darting from one victim to the next. he can’t count the number of times he’s washed someone else’s blood from his hands. they call it evil. villainous. but he calls it survival. how can you teach a dog to bite, then punish it when it does?or: there is a storm on the isle.
Relationships: Evie & Jay & Mal & Carlos de Vil, Jay & Mal (Disney)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	take the light inside you like a blessing (like a knee in the chest)

_i. i will always follow you_

the rain pours like a poor man’s tears as jay clambers through the thick, coiling isle night. the isle is dismal on a good day, but the rain started two hours ago, striking in clotted lashes, the stiff fester of clouds unrelenting. the bloated streets are slick, and jay doesn’t have a death wish so he sticks to alleys and well-worn pathways other than the roofs. he’s survived this long, and he’s _not_ going to die by breaking his neck falling off a roof.

the thunder rumbles around him, groaning and incessant, howling at the isle barrier. jay silently thanks whatever sickly scrap of luck he has that’s warding off faces in the dark. tonight, he’s not in the mood for a fight. his head is throbbing as loud as the thunder; he didn’t have time to assess the wounds before he slipped out the shop, but something’s definitely bleeding. here, in the storm, he’s easy prey. 

he almost sobs as the hideout comes into view, the grimy night gripping to it with filthy claws. the rain almost seeps into his hand as he picks up the rock, the throw slightly pathetic as his fingers shake. the hideout is a beacon, calling him home. stopping at the stairs, he composes himself: hands in pockets, head up high, as if he wasn’t just writhing on the shop floor. they’re going to be worried about him, and that is the thing he hates the most. it’s the one thing he tries to prevent happening every waking moment. they can’t be worried about him. he can’t give them reason to. 

base is relatively warm. jay has never been so grateful carlos fixed up a radiator that sporadically sputters out heat now and then. it’s that airless, sticky warmth that leeches onto already-damp skin and fogs up windows, but it’s warm, and jay allows it to shudder through him. evie’s poised on the battered sofa, picking at a cushion in her lap. mal stands by the window. they both look up as jay enters. mal rushes towards him, a thunderstorm in her own right. jay begins to wonder if he was better off dying in street because she has murder gleaming in her eyes. 

“where the fuck have you been?” she demands. 

jay frowns, his eyes sweeping the room. “where’s carlos?”

“resting.” evie nods to the thin fabric draped across the bedroom’s entrance. “cruella went particularly batshit tonight.” her voice is low, husky with tiredness. 

there’s a twist in his stomach, but not like a snake in the grass. he should’ve been there to help. he makes for the bedroom but mal sidesteps him, shoving him backwards with one hand. she’s glaring, lightning reflecting in those venomous green eyes. 

he pulls a hand through his drenched hair. the rain on the isle is merciless. it’s swept away whole streets before, swallowing the ramshackle metal huts in one gulp. it’s a gang rule they face the flood together. at least at base, they know where each other are — they know they’re alive and their bodies won’t be found caked in mud and silt when the sky clears up. and he’s late, and bleeding, and soaking wet, and they’re _worried_ about him. 

“where _were_ you?” mal repeats. 

jay takes in mal’s scowl. evie’s restless hands. pushing down the pain and the pounding in his head, knowing he can’t dodge the question this time, he grins. “father-son bonding time.” 

mal softens slightly at that. her fingers twitch at her sides, like she’s deciding if she should touch his cheek or punch it.

from the sofa, evie asks, “what happened?”

“i’m fine.”

“you would say that if you had two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and were concussed. that literally happened once.”

“i survived, didn’t i?”

“i fucking wish you didn’t,” mal grumbles, folding her arms. “i was about to go and look for you, you bastard.” 

being outside during a storm like this is a death wish. all the streets mangle together into one endless, murky labyrinth. no stars or street lamps to light your way. just you and a prayer between your lips, trying to persuade any god who may be idly listening to this swept-up isle of sinners that you’ll find your footing; that no desperate hands will pluck you from the dark. 

“well,” evie says, “at least you’re here now.” but her smile is too tight, and she grips at the fabric of her skirt in a pale fist. 

mal’s face scrunches again, her fangs flashing. “get here quicker next time,” she says, “else i’ll make you wish jafar finished you off.”

despite himself, jay laughs. blunt pain thrums throughout his torso. “yeah,” he wheezes, “next time dad decides he wants to crack my head open, i’ll ask him to make it quick else my captain will beat the living shit out of me.”

mal’s lips curl into a smile. “good.”

evie stands up and disappears behind the curtain. mal makes no sign to sit down, and jay doesn’t want to bleed all over the already trashed sofa. the wind scratches at the windows; batters against the walls. mal was going to go out in this. risk her life for him. jay’s throat closes, a snake squeezing at his neck. his bones are heavy, burdened by fumbling hands and pained glances and unspoken words. he wonders if auradon ever has this sort of weather. probably not. 

then evie reappears, a small box in her hands, and jay groans. evie rolls her eyes back at him, setting the box down on the table and sorting through scraps of fabric and rag. 

“eves,” he insists, already restless with guilt, “i’m _fine._ ”

as usual, she ignores him. “where are you hurt?” she asks. “let me see. take your top off.”

jay’s knuckles seem to be permanently bloody and his knees are perpetually scabbed and his skin is probably more scar than flesh. but that’s his job. he fights, he bleeds, he survives. that’s what keeps the earth on its axis; that’s how the four of them wake up the next day. they don’t survive by being weak. by _him_ being weak.

so, jay does he what he does best: be a complete fucking nuisance. he steps closer to evie, raising his eyebrows. “carlos is in the bed,” he says, “so is it okay if we use the sofa?”

behind him, mal growls. “you asshole. you absolute fucking nightmare. i’m going to kill you where you stand.”

jay looks to evie. “any reason mal particularly wants my head tonight?”

smiling wryly, evie rests a hand on his chest. “she doesn’t know how to express her feelings.” stepping back, her expression drops. “now take off your shirt before i rip it from your dead body.”

“you’re allowed to kill him and i’m not?” mal protests.

“yes. ladies first.” is evie’s dainty reply. “and i’m a lady.”

“i’m a lady,” mal huffs. 

“no, mal, you’re a fucking gremlin.” evie points to jay. “top off. now.”

briefly, he considers turning around and braving the storm himself, but he’s not that dumb. this is the end of the world, and he’d be a fool and a coward to abandon his closest allies during the flood. 

_ii. i would do anything for you_

he doesn’t budge.

evie’s face flickers into something that isn’t quite a scowl — the puppeteer that is her mother wouldn’t allow that. “mal,” she says, “he listens to you.”

“no he certainly fucking does not.”

jay opens his mouth to protest that literally yesterday he was spying on uma’s crew at mal’s command, but then evie forces a few scraps of makeshift bandage into mal’s hand. “i did carlos. it’s your turn.” and jay spots the wicked twisting of her lips curving upwards. 

“don’t leave me with _mal_ ,” jay whines. 

it’s a well-known fact in their crew that mal is the absolute fucking worst at patching you up. although, not that jay would ever tell her, he kind of likes the scars she leaves with her abysmal needlework. 

evie shrugs. “just pray you don’t need stitches.” she pauses. “and, mal, don’t murder jay.” and with that, she disappears behind the ragged curtain. 

“no promises,” mal calls out after her, before slowly turns to him, dangling the cloth loosely between her fingers. “well.”

“i’ll bandage myself up.”

“like hell you will.” she gestures at the floor. “sit down.”

reluctantly, he does. it’s not often he lets his gang down. even if it wasn’t his fault. he knew he should’ve just skipped going to the shop today, just taken the beating the next morning and be done with it, but he had snagged a bracelet from cj hook that he thought could fetch a good price, or at least one day free from a bruising. but fate has never been kind to him. why would it start now?

“are you gonna kill me now that evie’s not here?”

mal snorts. “if i wanted you dead you’d be long gone, jay.”

“you think too highly of yourself.”

eyes flicking to mal and away again, jay begrudgingly takes off his shirt. it’s not even that bad, just a deep gash above his empty ribcage and a few beginnings of bruises. his dragon tattoo is fully exposed, pridefully spreading its wings across his chest, and the cut bleeds against the inked tail. mal’s fingers hover above the blood. her eyes rake across his torso, searching for new wounds.

“sweet evil, jay, i am sick of seeing your blood,” mal grumbles. “can you at least try to keep it inside of you, for once?”

jay nods solemnly. “internal bleeding.” that earns him a light slap on the arm.

there’s a pause, punctuated by a booming clap of thunder. “is that it?” she asks, her voice softer than he was expected and he tenses.

“yeah.”

she settles on her knees in front of him. and grabs the flask from the box and pours some onto a rag, dabbing at the wound. jay inhales sharply, not letting himself wince. 

he almost doesn’t hear mal speak, her voice matching the low, vengeful rumble of the rain. “who did this?”

“what?”

“the cut.” her hands still. “jafar doesn’t usually leave cuts.”

and jay stares at her because, well, it’s true. jafar leaves bruises that bead with blood and can flay away layers of skin, but the old man is growing weak and can’t do as much damage as he used to. 

but how does mal know that? _why_ does mal know that? they’re not meant to care about each other. they— they _don’t_ care about each other. they’re just useful, that’s all. mal shouldn’t know him this intimately. this isn’t how the story should go. faintly, he’s aware of the urge to shove mal away and slip out the door and wait the storm out. 

but fairytales and happy endings and stories that happen like they should aren’t meant for people like him. he was raised by greed and festering ambition. he clawed his way here, heaving brittle bones with him. he is the best of the worst —mal’s right hand man— and that is a title he bears with untainted pride.

“doesn’t matter.”

“yes, it does.” mal holds his gaze until he flicks it away, the battered roof beginning to cave in on him; the walls closing in until his guts are spilled on the damp, rotting floor. “it’s new. who did it?”

jay is quiet for a moment, before huffing out a long breath. he rolls his eyes. “just cj hook. i stole her bracelet. i left her in worse shape than she left me.”

clenching her jaw, mal smirks. “good.”

then she works in silence, and he watches her pale hands, fingers not quite letting themselves connect with his skin. he’s almost left winded, the same way the absence of magic rattles in his lungs with every breath. and that’s when he realises. why mal’s hands are so tentative. this ache, something that’s there but you’re forbidden to ever touch, so colossal and vast you almost can’t see it. it crept up so slowly you never knew it was there until it’s too late. 

mal is all broken glass teeth and snakeskin eyes. she’s dangerous and deadly and he would bring the whole world down for her if she asked. and jay slowly begins to understand her sharp words and glowers tonight: she’s not angry at _him._ glancing out the window, the silhouette of auradon is shrouded by the dank, grey clouds. it looms miles away, free from the death and decay of the isle, a painful taunt of what they could have. of what they never will have.

he wants to reach for mal’s hand. they hold each other together like sinew knits together the body. it’s cowardice, he knows. he’s not a scared little boy grasping for comfort and coming up empty. 

she gasps as their fingers touch. he wonders if she would’ve reacted less if he punched her in the face. 

“you’re so cold.”

he steadily meets her gaze. “i’m fine.”

and he means it. he’s not a liability. he survived the storm for them. he survives for them. takes the hits and throws the punches and bleeds and bruises for them. nothing is promised on the isle. you have to grip to every single thing you have. there is no room to slip up on the isle. one slip means you’ve fallen off the roof and broken your neck and those who pay attention to your shattered body and those rifling through your pockets. 

mal shakes her head, the moment bursting like a dropped mirror. “the radiator is in the bedroom.”

“carlos needs it more than me.” he pauses before asking, “he wasn’t… too bad, right?”

“not the worst we’ve seen. a bit more beat than you.” 

“i should’ve been there.”

“it’s fine. evie took care of it. the damage was already done.”

“still.”

then mal grins at him, lopsided and devilish. all her gentleness is gone, and jay would wonder if he imagined it if his fingertips weren’t tingling. “you and your hero complex.” she finishes bandaging the gash. “this isn’t the mainland. don’t go soft on me.”

“i can punch you if you like.”

“i said _soft_ , not treasonous.”

he laughs then, and stands up, flexing his shoulders. mal didn’t even do too bad of a job fixing him up. 

“you can’t talk to me about going soft. you were about to go and look for me.”

“well, if you died, who would i boss around?”

“you’ve definitely called me expendable on multiple occasions.”

she elbows him. “and i meant it every time.”

“next time, i’m not risking life and limb to come here. do you know how tangled my hair is going to be?”

“it wouldn’t be if you weren’t late,” she teases, but that’s a sharpness to her words. 

slowly, his fingers find hers. it’s nothing —just a brush— but it’s a promise. jay has promised mal three things, and he intends to keep every single one. loyalty is rarer than laughter on the isle, but in each other, and evie and carlos, they found plenty of each. 

because he and mal are a two headed snake. they’re what happens when lightning strikes the same place twice. blood that lingers in your mouth. restless and relentless and ravenous. like the tug of the gut, like straining veins, like clenched fists and bared teeth and throbbing lungs. the curve of a knife, safe weight in your pocket. 

with flawless timing only evie (and the fact that the curtain doesn’t block sound) could pull off, she pokes her head round, gaze landing on jay’s exposed torso. “you didn’t need stitches, then.”

“the gods were merciful tonight.” jay replies dryly. 

“put some different clothes on. i’m not letting you get the bed soggy.”

jay is mal’s second, but it might as well be evie. he gives her a mock salute and grabs his dripping top and hangs it on the arm of the sofa in some futile attempt to let it dry.

he and mal have barely followed evie behind the curtain when a firm punch lands on his arm and he spins round, to find carlos scowling up at him. 

“fuck,” jay hisses. considering carlos’ head is roughly the same size as jay’s fist, that should _not_ have hurt that much. 

“you’re late.”

“were you two just waiting for me to come in here so you could all dismember me?” jay asks, incredulous. he looks to carlos. “i thought you were asleep.”

there’s a grin of evie’s face that tells jay that carlos _definitely_ planned to sneak attack him. but glancing over him, he can tell he took a beating today, too: his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. jay clenches his fists at his sides. 

_iii. we will burn auradon to the ground_

when they find a way to bring down the barrier, the first thing they’re going to do is kill their parents so they stay dead. sometimes that’s the only thing that can steady the raging in his ears. an assurance to crawl into, to bide and seeth and heal. but for now, they wait. wait for magic to surge through their bones; he waits to take a knife to his old man’s decayed heart. 

there’s a groan from evie. she’s crouched by the radiator, positioned by the double mattress on the floor. “heating’s off,” she says grimly. 

jay tries kicking it a few times but it doesn’t do much. 

“if i didn’t know better, i’d think auradon was trying to kill us,” carlos mutters, joining evie on the floor and beginning to fiddle with the radiator. 

jay glances to mal. she’s all sharpness and angles, a bottle shattering over your head in a street fight or the jagged edge of bone breaking through the skin. there is not much in this world for any of them: just three other people and a knack for tragedy. he remembers what she said to him once, when she was twelve and he was thirteen, before they faced a gang together that hopelessly outnumbered them: _we make our own luck._ they could die tonight, sure, but they could die any other night as well. 

and the world is not ending because his world is right here, in front of him, shuddering into multitudes. the world is desperate in a way they’d never let anyone see, but he can. and the world is his. not for taking, but to protect. 

but for a split second, jay can understand his father’s rage. auradon stands, unaffected and unbothered. they will not spare a second thought to these children, terror deep-rooted under blood so dark it’s almost black. who is more villainous? the children paying for their parents’ crimes or the heroes that let it happen?

there is another life where the only way he knows the colour red is by chasing the sunsets that sweep across the sky like divinity. where he only bruises because of long nights dancing into dusk. where he only knows suffering from folklore and fairytales; the kind where things happen like they should. but how can you be robbed of something you never had?

when mal finds his gaze, they’re sitting on a roof together, and jay’s trying to scout out the stars under the clotted, convulsing clouds. he’s cold but he doesn’t shiver. they look out towards auradon, its silhouette lit up by faint, glowing yellows and ambers. mal has a split lip and a black eye. _we’re going to burn it to the ground_ , she says, and jay doesn’t think she’s ever looked more like her father than she did in that moment. _we’ll make them pay._

jay flexes his hand. thunder groans like a door on its hinge. mal sends him to grab the bedraggled cushions from the sofa and evie to find some fabric they can use as makeshift blankets. carlos confirms that it’s definitely on auradon’s end that the radiator isn’t working, and jay pretends not to notice when evie’s arm brushes against his. 

“i’ll take first watch,” he says, offering a scrap of material to carlos, who wraps it around his shoulders like a cape. 

mal opens her mouth to disagree but hesitates before speaking. “fine.” her words are knife edge, tilted at his throat. “usual order, then.”

they all nod in confirmation. he knows mal would rather he got some rest, but between the thrumming guilt and twinging ribcage that strains under every breath, he knows it’ll be impossible for him to sleep tonight. he can’t have what he hasn’t earned. 

hugging a pillow to her chest, mal says, “wake me up if your bandages need changing.”

“don’t you trust me to do it myself?”

“i can’t trust you to arrive on time.”

jay scowls. “you want to kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

she grins and punches his arm. 

once the other three are settled, jay peers out of the murky window. it’s hard to make out anything. he’s glad that the window doesn’t look out towards auradon. 

carlos once said that if you count the seconds between the lightning strikes you can gauge how far away it is. jay uses each flash like a heartbeat, wishing the storm away. he clicks his fingers. nothing happens. but how can you be robbed of something you never had? jay is a thief, a dirty street rat darting from one victim to the next. he can’t count the number of times he’s washed someone else’s blood from his hands. they call it evil. villainous. but he calls it survival. how can you teach a dog to bite, then punish it when it does?

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! thank you so much for reading i hope you enjoyed it!! it would mean the world to me if you could leave kudos and comment what you thought!!
> 
> i can be found at @ juliesscooby on twitter or ilovefredjones on tumblr!! <3


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